


Sharp Stick Called Truth

by ThistleOfLiberty



Series: Not Flesh and Blood Series [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Spanking, young!Hotch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThistleOfLiberty/pseuds/ThistleOfLiberty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early days of working in the BAU, Hotch disobeys an order and puts himself in danger. Rossi doesn't approve, and finds himself explaining some things to the younger man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp Stick Called Truth

**Author's Note:**

> The dream begins with a teacher who believes in you, who tugs and pushes and leads you to the next plateau, sometimes poking you with a sharp stick called 'truth.' 
> 
> Dan Rather, American journalist

The position in which Aaron Hotchner currently found himself in was not one he had ever expected. No-one could blame him for that, really. This wasn’t how an FBI-agent was supposed to be treated; this wasn’t how any grown man was supposed to be treated. In fact, if he wasn’t experiencing the aftereffects with painful clarity at the very moment, he would never believe it had happened.

His fellow agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit, David Rossi, had just spanked him.

Hotch supposed that after his behavior over the last few days, some sort of confrontation had been inevitable. He had disobeyed a direct order. Even if the BAU was, in a word, strange, something like that couldn’t go by without some sort of disciplinary action and he had expected to be yelled at, and maybe suspended. Not spanked like a naughty child; but on the other hand, he hadn’t expected that the reason for Rossi’s upset wasn’t really the disobedience in itself.  
Instead, the older man had pointed out to him, quite forcefully, that what Hotch had done was dangerous. 

And normally Hotch wouldn’t have done what he had. Going into a house where an armed and high psychopath held a woman hostage against the advice of one of the best profilers in the world was, admittedly, not the brightest move possible. But Hotch had been too emotionally involved to think entirely logically. 

It was disconcerting, in a way, that he could still be affected so by a case. Several years as a prosecutor had made him acquainted with most forms of evil out there, and though it still affected him he knew how to keep a cool head and not get too emotional. Even when a case struck far too close to home to be comfortable, he could deal with it. 

In the beginning of his career it had been hard to ignore the memories that were dredged up. The way an account from an abused wife or child turned into a scene from his own childhood¸ his father’s voice echoing in the courtroom when he interrogated abusive parents, stirring up anger and shame, had made him consider moving away from those cases, but he couldn’t allow himself to lose like that. So Hotch had learnt to put a comfortable distance between himself and the too familiar cases; learnt to treat them as textbook examples rather than real.

It made him feel slightly guilty, to consciously try to see the victims as unreal and not human, but he honestly didn’t know how else to deal with it and he told himself that it didn’t really matter how he viewed the cases as long as he did his job. 

This time, however, he couldn’t keep his distance. He was used to reviewing, recounting and dissecting abuse cases, but he wasn’t used to analyzing them. Hearing Rossi calmly lay out everything he had felt as an angry teenager made it impossible to stay uncaring, and when the older man demanded his opinion on something, forcing him to put himself back into what he had felt back then, memories and emotions rose to the surface and made it more and more difficult to stay calm.

And not being calm made it more and more difficult to act like the reasonable and fairly intelligent profiler he knew he was. 

He had assured Rossi, at the older man’s question, that there was no problem and that he could work on the case without any problem. Rossi had seemed unsure; since he had noticed Hotch’s discomfort to begin with he was unlikely to just dismiss it, but Hotch’s promises that he was all right convinced him. 

But when they found their UnSub holding a family hostage in their house and he demanded that Hotch entered it, unarmed and without vest, Hotch had given in without much consideration. That, he supposed, had been a good defense; that he had acted on instinct and that he really hadn’t realized that what he was doing was something he shouldn’t do, if it hadn’t been for the fact that as soon as he had agreed, Rossi had sharply ordered him not to go into the house, using not only a voice very reminiscent of his time in the marines but also Hotch’s full name. It had actually halted Hotch for a moment, before he recovered his earlier resolve and entered the house.

Things had gone well. Even Rossi couldn’t deny that, but it had been touch and go for a while. The UnSub had seemed intent on shooting both Hotch and his hostage, and for a minute or so Hotch had been convinced that death was imminent, but then his words had seemingly struck a chord with the UnSub and both he and the woman had been let go, letting the rest of the agents cuff and take away the UnSub.

Hotch had been rather pleased with himself, and a pleasant tiredness was beginning to overtake him. The sudden rush of adrenaline, coupled with several days’ almost uninterrupted work, made it difficult to stay alert as the thrill died down and his sudden almost drowsiness might be why the sudden harsh grip on his arm surprised him so.  
He jumped and spun around, coming face to face with a furious looking David Rossi. 

“Go back to the hotel,” the older man ordered tersely, before Hotch had time to say anything. 

“No,” Hotch protested with a frown, not really understanding what was going on, “We’re not done…”

“You are,” Rossi cut him off. “Hotel, now.”

Maybe against better knowledge, Hotch still didn’t obey; instead he merely deepened his frown and opened his mouth to continue arguing. Again, he was cut off, this time by Rossi giving him a small shake.

“Now, Aaron.”

The older man’s voice was hard, leaving no room for argument and this time Hotch obeyed. Not caring that he probably looked like an angry teenager he stomped over to one of the Bureau SUVs and threw the door open. It shouldn’t upset him like this, really, but the embarrassment of being sent to his room like an out-of-control teenager was irritating. He also had to admit that there was a slight feeling of apprehension fueling his behavior. Rossi’s uncharacteristic behavior led him to wonder just how angry the older man was and just what he would do. 

Not that Hotch was in any way intimidated by Rossi; he was just concerned that the older man would suspend him. It wasn’t as if he cared about Rossi’s disapproval beyond that. The man’s opinion didn’t matter to him.

Forcing himself to believe this, it was a bit difficult to explain why he was still seething as he reached his hotel room, slamming the door shut after him, but he could ignore that.

***

Two hours later the door to Hotch’s room was thrown open forcefully and Rossi entered, his stride determined and his face stern. Hotch got up from his relaxed position on the couch reading the paper and opened his mouth to greet his colleague.

“Sit!” Rossi commanded before he had time to say anything, pointing at the couch. His mouth still open, Hotch obeyed. This was out of character for the older man. Rossi gave orders, sure, but he was relaxed about it, and he never minded getting Hotch’s input. At the moment he looked as if though he would punch something if Hotch even considered arguing. Before Hotch had time to consider what he should say, Rossi continued. “You lied to me!”

That wasn’t what Hotch had expected. Technically, he supposed he had lied in assuring Rossi that he was fine with working this case, but he didn’t expect Rossi to know that and even if he did he didn’t expect it to be the main issue of what he had done. Hotch would probably have been able to calmly defend himself against accusations of insubordination; after all, he had done it before. Not with Rossi, but if he pretended Rossi was just any superior there should be no problem. But this accusation of dishonesty was completely unexpected and what was even more unexpected was the slight hint of hurt in the older man’s voice. It was too personal and as he with a sense of dread felt warmth flooding his cheeks and an unfamiliar feeling of exposure creeping up on him, Hotch did the first thing he could think of and denied everything.

“No, I didn’t.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You’re doing it again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hotch replied, futilely trying to fight the blush on his face, annoyance starting to mix in with his embarrassment. Rossi had no right to make him feel like this. He shouldn’t be able to make him feel like this. 

“Don’t bullshit me, kid,” Rossi snapped and for a moment Hotch closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath. Knowing he would lash out if he let himself, he did what he had had learnt to perfection many, many years ago and cut off his feelings, letting a familiar mask of indifference slide over his face. 

“I think you should leave now,” he said calmly. Rossi merely smirked and crossed his arms. 

“Well, I won’t. We need to talk.”

This was more comfortable. They had left the personal accusations behind and could move onto a game Hotch knew how to play.

“Look, I know I shouldn’t have taken off the vest. I should have listened. I’m sorry.”

Rossi looked a bit thrown off at this, as if he hadn’t expected to get Hotch’s agreement so easily. He studied the younger man closely for a moment, his brow furrowed in confusion, before he shook his head slightly and sat down. 

“Why?”

It was Hotch’s turn to be confused now. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you sorry?”

Hotch’s frown deepened as his confusion grew. Was the older man trying to trick him? There had to be some sort of motive behind the question, but Hotch couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be. Rossi had never seemed the type to get off on humiliation, and he definitely wasn’t all that big on talking about feelings.

“What?” he asked, the irritation he was feeling starting to become evident in his voice, despite his resolve to remain indifferent. It was simply too hard not to react around Rossi, especially since the man seemed to have made it his mission in life to act as unpredictably as possibly. Or maybe Hotch was just a worse profiler than he thought.

“It’s a straightforward question,” Rossi drawled, leaning back in his chair and studying Hotch curiously. “Why are you sorry?”

With a mounting feeling of intense discomfort Hotch drew a deep breath and tried telling himself to keep calm. So what if he had no idea what was going on? He was an FBI agent and a profiler; he could handle unfamiliar situations. And it wasn’t as if Rossi was a threat.

“Look, Dave,” he said, “I really don’t know what you want. Just say what you want to say and then leave me alone.”

“This isn’t about what I want to say”, Rossi said, dismissively, “It’s about you. Answer the question, Aaron.”

Hotch stood abruptly, crossing his arms across his chest and leveling a glare at the older man, who calmly retained his leant-back position in the arm chair, studying Hotch with polite interest. 

“I. Don’t. Know.” Hotch ground out through a tightly clenched jaw. He wasn’t sure what knowledge exactly he was denying, but nevertheless the three words explained his current state of mind perfectly. He didn’t know what was going on, he didn’t know what Rossi wanted, he didn’t know what he was supposed to say and he didn’t know how this was going to play out.

“Sit down, kid,” Rossi ordered, still annoyingly calm. 

“No!” Hotch retorted angrily. “I went against an order; I get that. Put it in the report and suspend me, but don’t do you profiling crap on me.”

Frowning, and losing the benevolent look on his face, Rossi stood as well, sticking his hands in his pockets. 

“Sit down,” he repeated, a small nod to the sofa emphasizing his words. His voice was still calm, but deceptively so, and he had the same determined look on his face he got whenever he was about to do a rough interrogation. It only served to anger Hotch even further. If he had taken time to reflect on his feelings he might have sensed that it was because Rossi treating him like a suspect immediately brought up the fear that the older man would try to break him down, would bully him and humiliate him. Like his father had. 

“Aren’t you listening?” he snapped, “I will not sit down and listen to your bullshit! I don’t want to talk to you! Get. Out!”

Rossi took a small step closer to Hotch, raising his eyebrows and his gaze growing even more intense. 

“Last chance, Aaron,” he said, “Sit down.”

Being the profiler that he was, Hotch supposed that he should have noted the change in the older man’s demeanor, the way his voice dropped a bit lower and lost some of its usual sarcastic drawl. He should also have noticed the thinly veiled threat behind the man’s words, the promise of consequences if he wasn’t obeyed. But Hotch wasn’t willing to notice anything but the unsettling feeling of vulnerability that filled him and the fact that the man in front of his was the cause of that feeling. 

“I will not!” Hotch almost yelled. He wasn’t sure why he felt the anger he did, but he knew that right now it was impossible to back down. “Just get out of my room and leave me the hell alone!”

At the end of his sentence he was shouting for real; wanting nothing but for Rossi to get out and leave him alone to try and collect his feelings, returning to having his reactions under enough control that he needn’t worry about what Rossi would say or do. At the moment he feared that a wrong word from Rossi would undo his grip entirely and he would lose his temper completely. 

When the older man seemed entirely unmoved by his outburst, Hotch took a step closer, prepared to forcibly move Rossi from his room. Hotch raised his hand to push him, but before he had even touched the man, his wrist was snagged in a tight grip and Rossi spun him around, pulling him towards him and before he had time to react he was bent over the armrest of the chair and a stinging pain spread over his backside.

Rossi had spanked him. 

Too stunned to react, he remained unmoving as Rossi repeated the action twice.

“Calm now?” Rossi asked and Hotch blinked furiously to get the slight stinging sensation out of his eyes. This wasn’t happening.

After a moment, as soon as the shock had passed, Hotch began struggling, pushing up against Rossi’s restraining hand and desperately trying to free himself from the embarrassing position. But Rossi was even normally as strong as him, and their positions gave the older man considerable leverage, meaning that for all of Hotch’s struggles he was firmly stuck.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded instead, trying to turn his head to glare at the older man. “This is ridiculous!”

“Yeah?” Rossi questioned calmly, “What should I be doing? Write you up? You’re not even getting why I’m upset so I don’t think a bureaucratic slap on the wrist is gonna do much good.”

Hotch tried to get up again; gaining nothing but confirmation that Rossi’s hold on him was still strong. Temporarily surrendering, he sighed.

“So you’re going to beat me instead?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and even; as if the growing fear that Rossi was just like his father didn’t affect him at all. 

“Spank you,” Rossi corrected, “I’m gonna spank you.”

“There’s a difference?” Hotch snapped.

“Yep.”

He didn’t say anything more, and Hotch frowned in confusion. This, again, was unexpected. And Hotch had no idea how to react.

“Fuck you, Dave,” he said, figuring that since faked humility was unlikely to get him anywhere he might as well try to hurt the man, “I knew you had an ego bordering on narcissistic, but I really had no idea you were a sadist. I wonder what it stems from. Impotence? That why you can’t make your marriages work? Or did you hit them too? That’s it? They got tired of being slapped around?”

Rossi gave him a rough shake and Hotch really expected another swat to his rear end. It didn’t come.

“Keep it up and I’m gonna let you up and punch you, kid,” Rossi said, his voice taking on a considerably colder tone, “This isn’t about me, and you know it. Pissing me off like this isn’t gonna get you anything but a black eye, and it won’t get you out of a spanking. You gonna talk to me civilly?”

“This from the guy who is spanking me?” 

The older man sighed tiredly. “Look, Aaron; I can’t let this go. You lied to me and then went into a house with an armed psychopath on drugs and you don’t seem to get the fact that I’m pissed!”

“Yes!” Hotch argued, “Yes, I get it! If you want to beat me, go ahead.”

“I don’t want to beat you. I don’t even want to spank you; not really. But you messed up big time and that warrants disciplinary action.”

Hotch swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment. “Dave, I honestly get that,” he said, “but why... why this?”

“’Cause I care about you. Can you honestly tell me it’s gonna affect you at all if I suspend you for a week or two?”

“But hitting me will?”

Rossi sighed. “Spanking you will, yeah.”

“What’s the difference?” Hotch asked, almost wincing when he realized that his tone was closer to whining than it had been in over a decade.

His father hadn’t spanked him, but he had disciplined him. That’s what he said, anyway, when he was sober. To Hotch the blows never felt any different whether it was discipline or not, and he doubted that it would be different with Rossi. A beating was a beating.

“The same difference there is between sending a kid to his room and sending a criminal to jail. Between taking away allowance and a fine. It’s just different, Aaron. Trust me.”  
Hotch did trust Rossi; more so than most other people in his life. He trusted the older man to have his back in the field, to teach him and to a certain degree even to watch out for him. But trusting him enough to let him hit him was another matter completely. Not that it seemed as if he had much of a choice. 

He remained silent, breathing deeply and calmly to prepare himself for the coming pain. A few seconds passed, and there was nothing.

“Hotch?” Rossi questioned after a while. “You listening?”

Hotch flinched involuntarily in surprise; he was prepared for a blow, not for words. Especially not soft words spoken in a gentle voice. To his great distress his voice shook slightly, from emotion he guessed, as he answered.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m listening,” he muttered.

“And..?” Rossi prompted patiently. When he wasn’t answered for a few moments he clarified the question. “Do you trust me, Aaron?”

This brought a deep frown to Hotch’s face. Why was Rossi asking him this? 

“I trust you, Dave,” he admitted slowly, “but not... I mean... Fuck, Dave.”

He could barely get the last words out; his jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt and he felt as if he was going to start crying if he let himself relax for a moment. He couldn’t tell why, he knew only that he once again found himself about to be beaten, and this time also by a man he trusted. His father had been bound by convention and morality to take care of and love him; his failure to do so had hurt, but he had learnt to accept it. Rossi had no obligation to be or do anything for him, but he had acted as if he cared and now he too resorted to violence. Hotch knew perfectly well that violence was not a normal ingredient in a relationship, and he knew logically that it was not his fault that his father had hit him. But the fact that yet another authority figure decided beating him was the best thing to do, and that only after less than a year of knowing him, brought to the surface long suppressed doubts. 

Surprising him for the umpteenth time that day, Rossi didn’t shake him or hit him or even rebuke him; he released his hold on Hotch and pulled him up into standing by the shoulder. Warily remembering the earlier threat of a punch Hotch tensed as he turned to face the older man, but was met with nothing but a concerned frown and a hand on his shoulder. 

“Aaron...” Rossi began, tilting his head slightly like he did when he was being kind, “I’m not your father.”

Hotch’s eyes widened fractionally and thoroughly ingrained instincts to evade and lie as soon as the subject was brought up immediately kicked in as he wondered how the hell the older man could possibly have known anything about it.

“I know that, Dave,” he said with a small smile, hoping his feigned amusement seemed genuine enough, “I’m not crazy, and besides I don’t really see what my father has to do with your sudden desire to...”

He was cut off by a raised eyebrow. “I’m a profiler, remember?” Rossi asked, “The signs are there, and besides I checked out your file a few hours ago.”

Deciding to leave the outright denials until a bit later, Hotch frowned and crossed his arms, staring intently at Rossi. “There’s nothing like that in my file,” he argued. Rossi shrugged.

“It’s there if you know what to look for,” he said. 

Hotch didn’t answer and for a moment the silence lay heavy over the room, Hotch desperately trying to find a way out of this mess. People weren’t supposed to know. He knew he should try and talk Rossi out of his sudden insight, but he doubted he would be successful. Before joining the BAU Hotch had been able to steer away uncomfortable questions and evade anything personal fairly easily; his stoic face and impressive glare made it hard for people to question his sincerity when he lied and he was an expert at changing the subject since childhood. But the profilers in the BAU were not only uncommonly persistent, they were also frighteningly perceptive and Hotch had come to realize that if there was something they really wanted to find out, they did so. And since Rossi had taken an interest in him, the older man already knew more about him than his former colleagues had learned in years.

“You’re mistaken,” he said calmly. 

“No, Aaron, I’m not.”

At that moment Hotch wanted nothing more than to walk away from Rossi and pretend that this conversation had never happened, but he found that he couldn’t. For one, his pride wouldn’t allow it. Instead he did the next best thing, and closed his eyes and sat down, facing away from Rossi.

“You are,” he repeated. 

Rossi took a seat next to him, annoyingly and uncomfortably close. “You have trust issues, you internalize all negative emotions and you constantly overachieve. Classical signs of rejecting parents. I wasn’t sure whether it was more than that, and I didn’t want to invade your privacy by pulling medical records and stuff, but after today... You want me to continue?”

Clenching his fists, unable to keep tears from springing up in his eyes, Hotch turned even further from Rossi. 

“I hate you, Dave,” he muttered. 

“I can live with that,” Rossi answered, the smirk on his face evident in his voice, but as he continued his voice was completely serious, “I’m not gonna lecture you on how messed up you probably are; you know all that already. But I will tell you this: I’m not your father, and I’m not going to make you feel like your father made you feel.”

To his own surprise a hoarse laugh made its way up Hotch’s throat, sounding small and strangely helpless, his eyes filling with tears and his breath hitching in his throat. “How do you know?” he demanded, his voice considerably less steady than he would have liked. “How can you possibly know what I will feel?”

Rossi didn’t answer for a moment, seemingly considering what to say. 

“Have you heard about the Dawkins case?” he asked after a moment. Hotch frowned, and for a moment he was tempted to turn and look at Rossi, curious as to what this could possibly be leading up to. Slowly, he nodded. “Well, then you know how I went into that theatre and talked the hostage takers down.”

“’Course I know about that,” Hotch replied, now intrigued despite himself and turning slightly to look at the other man. “They teach it at the Academy as a prime example of hostage negotiation.”

A small smile appeared on Rossi’s face and he nodded, as if pleased with the information. “I was rather good,” he agreed, a familiar hint of self-mockery mixed in with the boast in his tone. Hotch had realized over the months that he had known Rossi that a lot of his arrogance was just a game. “Anyway, what they probably didn’t tell you was that I was unarmed, without vest and went in against a direct order not to.”

“What happened?” Hotch asked, suspecting where this was going but unwilling to believe it. 

“My superior at the time decided I needed to be reminded that my actions affected others than myself and that orders are supposed to be followed,” the older man explained and then paused dramatically. “He spanked me.”

Despite having already guessed that this was how Rossi’s story was going to end, Hotch’s eyes widened in surprise when it was confirmed. It crossed his mind that the other man was lying to persuade him, but that wasn’t really Rossi’s style. Besides, it wasn’t as if it was something you would lie about having been submitted to. 

“Seriously?” Hotch asked, “And you let him?”

Rossi shrugged next to him. “I respected him,” he said, “And it wasn’t as if I was unfamiliar with the concept; my parents weren’t exactly hippies, y’know.”

Hotch was silent for a moment, allowing the information to sink in before he shook his head slowly. “That is really disturbing...” he muttered at last. He heard Rossi snort at glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes to see a smirk on his face.

“What, that my parents aren’t the reason I’m a jerk?”

With a small snort of his own, Hotch rolled his eyes. “Maybe the idea that FBI agents spank each other?”

A small chuckle came from the man next to him. “Hell, Hotch, you make it sound like we’re all involved in some sort of kinky orgy.”

Forgetting the seriousness of the situation for a moment Hotch smiled back. “Aren’t you?”

The grin stayed on Rossi’s face for a moment, but then he seemed to remember what they had been discussing and his face turned serious again. He cleared his throat, as if preparing to deliver a lecture and Hotch briefly considered trying to stave it off, continuing down the path of light teasing. But before he had time to say anything Rossi began speaking. 

“Okay,” he said, sounding almost a bit hesitant, “I guess the real question is whether a spanking will bring back too much memories. Did you father spank you, Aaron?”

If Hotch had had any sense he would have said that his father had indeed spanked him, and that there was no way he could separate the cruel beatings he had gotten from his father from reasonable punishment in his mind, but somehow he found himself unable to lie about this to the older man. Perhaps it was Rossi’s earlier explanation of why he had let himself be disciplined, years before; the simple “I respected him”. Hotch respected Rossi, he really did, and he realized that he was prepared to act quite far on that respect.

“No,” he replied quietly. “He used his belt. Sometimes his fists, but mostly his belt. On my back.”

Rossi stiffened next to him; maybe in anger, Hotch thought. But the older man didn’t say anything, and after a moment Hotch could feel him relax slowly.

“Well, it’s settled then,” Rossi then suddenly declared and without further warning he rose and pulled Hotch up with him, quickly closing the distance to the armchair and once again pushing Hotch down over it. Was this something he should learn to expect regularly?

“Dave!” he protested, “I didn’t agree!”

“Never said I needed your agreement,” Rossi retorted drily and before Hotch had time to continue the argument he brought his hand down on his backside with a sharp smack. It was painful, even through Hotch’s pants, and he couldn’t help but flinch.

“Dave!” Hotch repeated, almost shrilly, but got no response but yet another swat, “Stop that!”

“Nope.”

Hotch concluded that it was useless to argue, and began struggling to get out of Rossi’s grip. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. As before, however, Rossi’s hold was strong and Hotch realized he wouldn’t be able to get up without considerable fight, and he wasn’t prepared to do that with Rossi. Not yet, anyways.

Rossi continued in silence for what seemed like a very long time, his swats hard and crisp; slowly building a stinging sensation all over Hotch’s backside. It was uncomfortable, but not really all that painful, and to be honest Hotch doubted its value as punishment.

“All right, Aaron,” Rossi finally spoke. “If this ever happens again, you’ll be the one telling me how you messed up, but for now I’ll do it for you.”

Hotch considered snapping back the angry and sarcastic “thank you” that immediately appeared in his mind, but thought better of it when he was reminded of the position he was in by another smack. Again, Rossi stopped speaking for a while; the room silent except for the steady rhythm of crisp smacks. Hotch really hoped that the rooms where soundproof, or that if they weren’t that no-one would think anything of the strange sounds. His face flooded with heat at the thought of someone entering the room and seeing him in this position, but before he had time to dwell on the unwanted image Rossi continued.

“The number one issue is that you went into that damn house,” he began, “Do you understand how dangerous that was? That man was a complete psychopath and he was on drugs! There’s no way of predicting a guy like that’s behavior. He could have killed you!”

All the time he lectured Rossi also continued to deliver hard smacks to Hotch’s backside at an even pace, slowly building the pain up.

“It’s my job,” Hotch argued, ignoring the pain. Of course entering that house had been dangerous. Mostly everything they did as FBI agents was dangerous, in one way or another, and there was quite frankly no need for Rossi to spank him to point this out. 

“No, it’s not,” Rossi replied, his voice both angry and a bit exasperated. “Your job is to catch killers, not to give yourself over to them!”

“It was the only way.”

Hotch realized that it might not be the best of ideas to argue with the older man, considering the position he was in. He might also have realized that perhaps Rossi sort of had a point. But danger was part of what they did, and Hotch had accepted that his life was expendable in the pursuit of murderers and psychos the minute he decided to go into law enforcement. 

“Like hell it was,” Rossi retorted angrily and landed an especially hard swat, “He let the kids go without any demands for repayment; chances are he’d have done the same with the woman if you had pushed him a bit. But instead you went into the house as soon as the guy suggested it! Have you got any idea how worried I was?”

Hotch flinched at the accusatory tone in Rossi’s voice. The man sounded genuinely upset and for a moment Hotch felt bad about having caused him worry. But only for a moment; then he forced himself back into the mindset that as an agent danger was an inevitable part of his life. 

“Maybe,” he drawled, “you should consider a change in career if it bothers you so.”

That was answered by three rapid, very hard swats in the same place that actually caused Hotch to grunt in pain.

“Attitude, Hotch,” Rossi admonished and the stern reprimand in his voice brought a flush to Hotch’s face, not as much because of the reprimand in itself as because Rossi ever felt the need to give it. “I could just consider getting subordinates who obey me, y’know.”

Hotch’s breath hitched slightly at that. It sounded very much like Rossi was threatening to fire him, and that was not part of his plan. He had expected to be yelled at; but one case of insubordination should not warrant demission. And Hotch wanted this job, damn it. If he messed up so bad his job was now on the line, maybe he deserved to be beaten. 

“But I want you, kid,” Rossi continued, “So I guess this is the best viable option. Do you understand that what you did isn’t acceptable?”

Again, if he had any sense at all, Hotch would have agreed that he did understand the foolishness of what he’d done, but again, he didn’t. Being an FBI agent was dangerous, and that was simply the way it was. Why was he supposed to feel bad about that?

“No, Dave, I don’t!” he snapped back, attempting to turn his head to glare at Rossi but not managing very well. Deciding that he’d had enough of this undignified treatment, and beginning to think that Rossi after all didn’t actually have a point, he began struggling again, this time more violently, no slonger entirely opposed to the idea of harming Rossi. But before it came to that Rossi successfully halted his attempts by three hard swats to the very top of his thighs.

“Keep that up and you’ll lose the pants,” Rossi threatened. Not really wanting to risk finding out whether the older man was really serious, Hotch heeded the warning. “Okay, so you don’t know how you messed up; I’ll explain. You risked your life! That’s not something you can play around with! It’s too important for that, and if you can’t realize that I’ll give you some help. Like this.”

By now the spanking was beginning to grow really painful, and though pain was in no way unfamiliar to Hotch, the knowledge that it was Rossi, a man he respected and liked, that had felt it was necessary to inflict it, hurt and his eyes were beginning to sting, tears wanting to spring out. He cursed himself silently for it, knowing that tears rarely brought anything good and that allowing himself to appear even more vulnerable could only bring more pain. 

“If you die, Aaron,” Rossi continued his lecture, “people are gonna get hurt. You’re married, damn it! You have a mother and a brother. There’s me, and the rest of the BAU. You have friends!”

This rebuke hurt considerably more than the smacks raining down on his backside. Hotch hadn’t actually considered this. He had known it, of course; that Haley and Sean and his mother would be upset if something happened to him. But he hadn’t really considered it. And hearing Rossi lay it out like this forced him to do so. Add to that, hearing Rossi tell him that he cared caused a lot of his emotional walls to crumble, and the confusion he felt at his own need to get Rossi’s forgiveness only served to make his feelings rawer and more intrusive. Hating himself for it, he began to cry softly.

“You understand me now?”

Hotch nodded frantically, and realizing that Rossi might not see him he spoke as well.

“I understand,” he said, the tears obvious in his voice, “I understand.”

Rossi didn’t stop spanking, nor did he soften the swats, but he did move his left hand from the small of Hotch’s back to his neck, massaging it comfortingly. 

“You’re okay, kid,” he assured Hotch, his voice soft, “You got it; that’s good. Now; you lied to me as well. You understand that that’s not okay?”

Again, Hotch agreed immediately, desperately wanting Rossi to stop so that he could be alone and collect his feelings. He wasn’t supposed to be crying. This wasn’t even that painful. It wasn’t supposed to affect him.

“Yes! I understand! I understand!”

“Shh...” Rossi soothed again, “I told you, you’re okay. You’ll be fine. Last thing; you disobeyed. Not okay, right?”

Under normal circumstances Hotch would have detested the softness of his tone, the way he sounded like he was speaking to a small child, the way he was coaching rather than demanding. But right now it was calming; reassuring Hotch that Rossi wasn’t really all that angry, that there was still chance for forgiveness. 

“Yeah, yeah; not okay!” he repeated, nodding his head as well. “Not okay...”

Immediately, Rossi stopped the spanking, moving his hand from Hotch’s neck and using his other hand to stand the younger man up. As soon as he was up Hotch moved away from the man, blinking furiously to remove all traces of tears but suspecting that he wasn’t succeeding very well. Hopefully Rossi would be willing to ignore his crying and let him go without commenting on it. He quickly swiped a hand over his face, drying the tears from his cheeks, and looked up at Rossi, prepared to make his excuses and leave, only to be stopped by the frown on Rossi’s face.

Fear that he had failed, again, flared up suddenly, and unable to face the idea of once again being submitted to Rossi’s stern disapproval his eyes filled with tears again and he spread his hands out, palms upwards, and gave the older man a pleading look.

“I’m sorry...” he began, swallowing when he realized just how broken his voice sounded; trying to get it back under control. “I’m really sorry, but...”

This only served to deepen the frown on Rossi’s face and as he took a step towards him, Hotch instinctively raised his hands to in front of his face and tensed. Rossi, however, once again surprised him by instead of grabbing him again, or delivering a blow, reached around Hotch and with one hand on his neck and the other on his back pulled him into an embrace, ignoring the tension in Hotch’s body and his feeble attempts to pull away. 

“I’m not angry, Aaron,” he said softly, “Not at all. You’re all forgiven now, kid.”

Hotch wanted to relax. He wanted to let Rossi comfort him. He wanted to believe that this really was okay, and that Rossi was hugging him because he wanted to make Hotch feel better. But it was just too unbelievable. He wasn’t a child who needed to be coddled and Rossi had no obligation to do this.

Again, he tried to pull away and this time Rossi let him, but he kept a hand on Hotch’s shoulder and being halted after only taking half a step backward Hotch looked up at Rossi. The older man looked concerned. Very concerned, and sad. Tilting his head slightly and studying Hotch attentively, he spoke. “Are you angry?” he asked, “Did I... hurt you?”

“No!” Hotch exclaimed, entirely truthfully. Considering it, he realized that Rossi had been right. He didn’t feel the shame, the resentment and the anger he had felt every time his father disciplined him. He was confused, and he really wanted nothing else than to curl up somewhere and hide, but the familiar feeling of something being irreparably broken wasn’t there.

Rossi studied Hotch for a moment longer, before he pulled him back into a hug, tighter this time. Hotch let him, not bothering to struggle. He wanted this, damn it, and if Rossi was prepared to play comforter he could as well use it. Feeling the need to somehow excuse his reaction to the sudden closeness, Hotch cleared his throat. “It’s just...” he muttered self-consciously, “It’s embarrassing.”

It wasn’t a lie; embarrassment was part of the reason he didn’t want to accept this. No-one but his mother had hugged him like this, and that had been when he was a child. 

“What is?” Rossi asked. Hotch pulled back to give him an incredulous look. 

“This! You hugging me!”

To Hotch’s surprise that brought a small smile to Rossi’s face; a melancholy smile, but a smile nonetheless. Putting a hand on the back of his head, Rossi pulled Hotch back into the embrace, putting his head on his shoulder and stroking his hair gently. “Aaron, if you think being hugged is embarrassing we’ve got a lot of work to do,” he stated, “I’m your friend, and you’re hurting. Be quiet and let me comfort you.”

Hotch obeyed. He didn’t hug the older man back, awkwardly letting his arms hang by his sides, but Rossi didn’t seem to mind, and he continued stroking the back of Hotch’s head. As childish as it made him feel, Hotch found it comforting, and he allowed himself to stay in Rossi’s embrace for a while longer. Just until his tears had dried out completely. 

After some time, when his eyes were dry and he felt as if his emotions were once again somewhat under control, he pulled back and this time Rossi let him. Not looking at the older man, Hotch raised a hand to his face and wiped away the last residues of tears on his cheeks. Intent on avoiding meeting the older man’s eyes for as long as possible, he then began fiddling with his cuff links, twisting them nervously.

Rossi, who was never one for avoidance, quickly lost his patience.

“Look at me, Hotch,” he ordered, and considering the circumstances Hotch didn’t need to be asked twice. “You okay?”

Rossi’s kind brown eyes were trained on him and with a hint of color in his cheeks, embarrassed with the whole situation, Hotch nodded slowly. “Y-yes,” he answered. “I think so. 

“You sure?” Rossi prodded, head tilted slightly. Hotch nodded after a moment’s consideration.

“Yeah, it’s just... weird. But I’m okay.”

The older man nodded too, pleased with the answer. “Good,” he said, “Go and take a shower now, while I grab some food.”

With that and a final reassuring pat on the shoulder, Rossi left, leaving Hotch to carry out his instructions. 

To be entirely honest, Hotch was still confused. Wrapping his mind around what had just happened seemed far too difficult to attempt in his current exhausted state of mind and wrapping his mind around why it made him feel the way it did was even harder. He should hate Rossi right now; because Rossi had no right to punish him like he was a disobedient child, but he honestly felt nothing but slight embarrassment and a great deal of relief, stemming from the knowledge that he was forgiven and that what Rossi had done hadn’t damaged their relationship. It had probably changed it, but it hadn’t damaged it.

Because if Rossi hated or despised him, he wouldn’t hug him. At least that was what Hotch told himself, and he believed it as well as he could. 

Showering was fairly quickly done, mostly because Hotch was afraid that if he prolonged facing Rossi he would start feeling afraid to do so, and he really didn’t need any more emotions for the day. He couldn’t stop a slight hiss as the water first touched his sore backside, but as his skin got used to it the stinging pain abated slightly. 

He really couldn’t believe he had just been spanked.

When he left the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his waist and using another to dry his hair, Rossi was already there, packing up what looked to be Chinese takeaway. The older man looked up as he heard Hotch and gave him a small smile.

“Put on you pajamas and then come and eat before it gets cold,” he ordered, and instead of feeling angry at the tone in his voice, like he was speaking to a child, Hotch found it strangely comforting. He quickly did as instructed, grabbing a pair of pants and a t-shirt before retreating into the bathroom to change. The older man might have spanked him, but he wasn’t going to change in front of him. When he exited again the food, and Rossi, was waiting for him at the small table and after a moment’s hesitation, thinking of his still sore backside, Hotch took a seat opposite the older man and began eating. 

After some time, perhaps a minute, Rossi cleared his throat.

“Wanna talk?” he asked. Hotch looked up and for a moment a grimace flickered across his face. Did he want to talk? 

“About?” he stalled. Rossi snorted.

“You know what about,” he said, “How are you feeling?”

Hotch sighed and swept a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, “Confused?”

“You askin’ me?” Rossi replied, slightly incredulous, and spread his hands. “C’mon, Hotch!”

Hotch smiled weakly, almost apologetically. In a way, he was. Asking the older man if it was all right that he was confused, that he couldn’t give a straight answer. He was profiler, and this confusion was annoying. Normally, he knew what he felt; he could dissect and catalog his emotions, making it easy to control them. But right now he couldn’t really separate one feeling form another. It was all jumbled together; relief, embarrassment, confusion, apprehension.

“I guess not,” he said, “I can’t really tell, you know? I’m feeling too much.”

“That’s all right,” Rossi assured him kindly, “We’ll figure it out. Do you hate me?”

It took a moment for the question to register, and then another for Hotch to figure out whether Rossi was serious. When he realized that he was, Hotch frowned. “Of course not,” he said, “You haven’t done anything wrong. I admit that your… methods were unorthodox, but I probably deserved it. Considering how much I actually screwed up, I probably deserved more than a, eh… spanking. I mean…”

“Aaron,” Rossi interrupted his flow of words. Hotch looked up. The older man looked, if possible, even sterner than he had so far and the glare on his face was enough to have Hotch tense slightly. “If you ever again, in any way, imply that you deserve or deserved to be beaten or abused in any way I will take you over my knee and make the spanking you just got seem like nothing. In fact, if you even think it, I will spank you. Understood?”

Hotch, too stunned to answer, simply stared at Rossi with his mouth hanging open and eyes slightly widened. “Dave…” he began, whether to protest or not he wasn’t sure.

“Do you understand?” Rossi repeated sharply, causing Hotch to flinch slightly.

“Yes sir,” he answered, before he really had time to consider; it was more of an instinctive reaction to the older man’s tone.

“I’ll hold you to that, Aaron,” Rossi said, “Trust me.”

Not knowing how to reply to that, Hotch stayed silent. Rossi as well said nothing for a while, just kept eating his food. 

“Eat up,” he ordered after another few seconds of silence, “Then bed.”

Again, Hotch found no adequate answer, so he simply went back to his food. Was he really being sent to bed? After he had some time to compose himself, he cleared his throat hesitantly. “Don’t you think it’s a bit early for bed?”

Rossi raised his eyebrows. “No.”

Hotch glared, but obediently kept eating. He supposed he shouldn’t really be surprised by being treated like a young child; Rossi had after all just spanked him. That surely said something about how the older man viewed him, and strangely enough the idea didn’t bother Hotch all that much. As long as he would still be treated like the competent agent he knew he was the rest of the time, he could live with being coddled for the moment. It reassured him that Rossi had actually done what he had out of the reasons he had given, and not out of malice or contempt. 

When he finished, he neatly stacked the boxes together, after seeing that Rossi too was done, and disposed of them in the garbage can. He then turned to Rossi, awkwardly spreading his hands just a little.

“Eh…” he began, “You can leave now.”

Rossi merely raised his eyebrows. “I could,” he agreed, but made no move to rise from his chair, and not knowing quite what to do Hotch made an uncertain, fleeting gesture toward the bed.

“Well, I’m going to bed, I guess,” he said hesitantly, and Rossi nodded. Feeling very awkward, Hotch did as he had said and slipped under the covers, lying down on his stomach. He had never gone to bed in front of anyone except Haley in a very long time, and even then Haley was usually in bed before him. Lying down in bed with Rossi sitting and just watching him felt strange and uncomfortable. 

Not knowing whether the older man really expected him to go sleep with him there, Hotch raised himself on his elbows and gave him a curious look, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. 

Rossi got up and walked over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge of it. Hotch blushed, now feeling more like a child than ever. 

“Dave..?” he ventured, unsure what this was leading up to. 

“Aaron.” Rossi countered with a small smirk, which after a moment turned into a genuine smile, “Your mother never tuck you in?”

Hotch shot the man a mock glare. “You’re not my mother,” he said, only half-joking.

Rossi shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care,” he said, causing Hotch’s blush to deepen. “You’re a good kid, Aaron, and I want you to be the best you can be. That’s why I spanked you. I hope you understand that.”

“Uh…” Hotch stammered uncomfortably, his face feeling impossibly warm, “Yes?”

The older man’s expression was clearly skeptical and for a moment he looked as if he would call Hotch on his obvious half-lie, but he seemed to change his mind. “I guess that’s another thing we need to work on,” he merely said, “Go to sleep now.”

With that he adjusted Hotch’s covers slightly, and as he rose he softly ruffled Hotch’s hair with a small smile. Hotch frowned in response, feeling the need to distance himself from the action, assuring both himself and Rossi that he did not like the affectionate gesture. Rossi, as always, seemed unbothered by this.

“Sleep,” he repeated a final time, as if he wanted to make sure Hotch had really gotten the message, and completely ignoring Hotch’s eye roll he got up, but did not, as Hotch had expected, leave the room; instead he once again sat down at the small table, on the way there grabbing one of the magazines provided by the hotel, and began to read. 

Even though the older man’s attention was no longer focused on him, Hotch felt slightly uncomfortable with him in the room. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel vulnerable in a way he did not like at all.

“Dave, you really can leave now,” he said again, more forcefully. Rossi looked up briefly.

“I’m not leaving you on your own after punishing you,” he said, “That’s one of the rules of giving a damn. Now shut up and go to sleep before I decide you need another spanking.”

Deciding that Rossi probably was at least somewhat serious about his threat, Hotch obediently closed his eyes and burrowed deeper into his pillow. 

“Yes sir,” he murmured and he could almost see Rossi’s smirk despite having his eyes closed. 

To be honest, he rather liked the idea of the older man sticking around for a while; at least it wouldn’t give him any opportunity to feel alone, and that was a nice change. Content in the knowledge that Rossi wouldn’t be gone from his life, too angry to talk to him or simply passed out on the couch when he woke up, Hotch slowly drifted off into sleep.


End file.
